


Hide and Seek

by theunremarkable



Series: Kodaline [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 2000s, Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The First Avenger, F/M, SHIELD, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25749244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theunremarkable/pseuds/theunremarkable
Summary: “But Natasha,” Steve tries again, because it’s been too long, to be this alone. He can’t imagine that, not for 66 years.“Tasha is-,” and Bucky struggles for the word, visibly uneasy, shifting against the counter. “Comfort. She’s whatever I need her to be, she says. She has many faces, that’s why she’s so good at what she does, and she changes them for me when I need. She understands, but she’s not that.”~Love. Love can be patient, and it can be unkind. Love can be pure, and it can tainted. Love can be given, and can also be taken. Love can be many things.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Series: Kodaline [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815748
Comments: 13
Kudos: 162





	Hide and Seek

**Author's Note:**

> Each of the stories in The Kodaline Series will be accompanied by a little soundtrack by Kodaline that inspired the work, either by title, lyrics, feelings or otherwise.
> 
> This is Hide and Seek, which I find to be a back and forth, between Bucky and Natasha. Who relates to what, well, that's somewhat up to you!
> 
> [Hide and Seek, by Kodaline](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SO3qxL8hI7Y)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Washington D.C, 2004.

Bucky feels as weary as he believes any eighty-seven year old should.

He is aware he is not a normal eighty-seven year old, so perhaps the ache in his bones, the shadows both under and behind his eyes, the heavy effort of breathing, they are all more than a simple human could ever feel, could ever handle, could ever want to handle. Regardless, those are not his thoughts to own, so he endures. More than that, he embraces the pain with familiar welcome. Pain is the only thing he knows. It is his constant, he is more pain than Bucky, or any other name he may be known by.

Today, he is more tired than he prefers to be, though no one on the outside would ever be able to tell that he has not slept for three days, or skipped the only sustenance, his coffees, as they didn’t settle in his churning stomach, or was fatigued from fighting constantly with only his mind.

Above all, it’s recruitment day.

To say he’s not looking forward to it is an understatement. But it is his duty, to command and assist.

When the Director offered him, with only slight coercion tactics, to coordinate the Junior program, he didn’t decline the offer, nor did he drop his original workload. It was not required, not when he has the ability to perform all of the tasks requested, and any that may arise in the future. Additionally, it makes him look efficient, aids in his image, though he's adamant that the his achievements only seem great to normal humans who do not have the luxury of time, such as he. Time in the day, when he only sleeps a few hours a night on a regular basis, and time in his life, he has been doing this for longer than most of the agents, perhaps even before some of their births.

Nevertheless, his proposal was accepted by S.H.I.EL.D, which is how he now finds himself observing the stream of hopefuls below. Twelve senior agents each put forward four new recruits to the program, of which twenty-four would be put on low clearance duties, another twelve would make it to Strike teams and the last twelve would work their way up to lead agents.

“Fresh meat,” Tucker mutters to Bucky from their watch on the balcony. 

“Who brought in their kids for babysitting?” Bucky frowns. “Most of them are still children.” 

He can see Sharon’s blonde hair, he’s pleased she'd made it through the preliminary rounds. She worked hard and was astute, and Peggy had been so proud, if not a little scared for her. But Peggy of all people knew that fear was not a reason to be held back in life, and passed along all the secrets she could, when Bucky remained tight-lipped.

Against his pretense, Bucky was a smeared measure of proud. But their outside relationship would earn her no special treatment. Special treatment leads to mistakes, and mistakes mean death, in this world. That would happen to no recruit, not on his watch, not in his program, nor ever.

As if his conversation called upon her specifically, the youngest looking, a red head, turns her head up to the mezzanine, and stares back at the two men. Her face is carefully constructed, blank, a slight curiosity underlying that Bucky thinks maybe only his enhanced eyesight could detect. Their eyes lock, he keeps his own face impasse, but somehow feels that she is extracting information from him, that she can see through his mask, almost through to his soul, if he has one left. 

Then, she smiles.

Bucky’s face grows harder, but Tucker beside him falters.

Perhaps she’ll do well, if her smile is that disarming, that distracting, that neither of them notice Phil walking up behind them. “Hmmm,” he agrees. “Barton brought that one in. Watch out for her, she’s deadly. Code name Black Widow, one bite and you’re dead within minutes.”

“Tuck might already be bit,” Bucky looks across at the man, the married man, who looks pale and flustered, and Phil chuckles.

“Well, how’d you survive, Barnes?”

“Musta got my metal arm,” he says, and pulls away from the balcony. “Besides, Black Widows aren’t as deadly as most people think. Painful, yes, but not lethal to many, except children,” he says, a reassuring grip on Tucker’s shoulder, to which Phil laughs again. “That, and they only bite when provoked.”

“We only looked at her,” Tucker protests, weakly, unable to remove his grip from the railing. 

“Maybe you should head to medical. I can see the symptoms already; muscle weakness, faintness, respiratory difficulties...” Bucky trails off.

Tucker shakes his head, and moves to follow Bucky and Phil.

“Reckon she killed her husband?”

“What?”

“Widow,” Tucker points out, as if it’s obvious.

“You’re an idiot.” It’s not his first thought, that he thinks she’s far too young to even be married, but that’s not information pertinent to his colleagues. 

They head up another level, Bucky ignores the familiar conversation to sort through his thoughts. The recruits are already here, and he needs to be ready. He should be always be ready.

Perhaps her bite did reach him, he ponders with a slight frown as she enters the room. But, in almost an opposite manner to which he described. The fatigue he was feeling before, a slight lightheaded buzz, his usual despondency, is replaced by an energy. There’s a burning in his muscles, his mind clearer, his lips twitching as if they expect to smile at some point.

He doesn’t smile. No one is watching him, there’s no need to pretend, and he’s had no reason to smile unprompted since-.

Someone is watching him, though. The girl, he hopes he is wrong in that word, the woman, has kept her eyes tracked on him since she took her seat, in a way that he knows she’s already identified all exit routes, nine possible weapons on the desk, both ears attuned to thirteen different conversations around her, and can focus simply on him.

She’ll do well here.

He keeps his eyes forward. The attention is- he’s unsure, but it's present. He doesn’t understand why it is warranted, most of all, so frustrating would be his most prominent feeling. It doesn’t seem to be in a malicious or clinical way, so he’s not instantly on edge, and she is not attempting to get his attention back. She’s simply watching.

For all they are an intelligence community, no other agents have made any indication that they too have noticed her observations, so he makes no play himself. He simply sits, listens dutifully to the induction, and nods when he’s identified along with the other mentors. For all he’s in charge, is a key player in S.H.I.E.L.D’s future, he refused to do the speeches, or the talking. Best if they don’t know it’s him at all. The Director trusts him to not be influenced in his training methods and knowledge, that the program would run smoothly, and the agents would be selected for their purposes regardless of his participation in either aspect.

The Director, who asks him to stay back, once the induction is completed, and the recruits are taken to lunch, their first test.

“Thoughts?” 

“There are a few who already display desirable qualities,” he offers, retracting his previous thought. Their first exam was sitting in the room with him.

“I would not have said anything quite like that. Quiet, maybe nervous. What did you notice?”

He shrugs. “There were some who seem attentive, their eyes tracked exits, weapons, kept their body language unassuming, they’ll be good for leads. Some were tense, alert, more suited to Strike. The ones who hid fear in their eyes, should probably stay on the desks, both for their own sake, and others.”

"You want to write down your predictions from that 15 minutes? Just to humour me? Give it to me at the end, we’ll see how right you are.”

Bucky nods, but rolls his eyes. At the Director’s confused look, he explains, “It’s not that hard to notice.”

“I’ve known you for twenty-five years and I couldn’t tell you any of those things about you when you enter the room, or what they mean.” He holds his hand up, when Bucky makes to reply. “It’s fine, we all know you’re good, and if we get a few more like you, the world will be better for it. That’s not what I wanted to ask from you, in any case.”

The world would be better off with one less of him, he wants to point out, but he knows the comment will land him in reevaluation quicker than he could get the words out, so he refrains. He’s not had a visit in a long time, and he’d quite like to keep it that way. So, as always, he pushes the thought down, not letting it reach his sickly stomach, but his heart, where he knows it will settle and hurt in the appropriate way. The Director is waiting on him, so he nods again. 

“I’d like you to keep an eye on one of the new recruits,” he instructs as he hands across a file. 

Bucky isn't surprised that he discovers the red-haired's photo in the file. _Natasha Romanoff_ headlines, she is a woman and not a girl, but still far too young, just shy of twenty, he notes before he closes the file. He will have ample time to study the words in a moment, for now he needs the verbal intel while he's offered the chance. 

“You want me to spy on a new recruit?”

“Only until we find out if she’s spying back.” Bucky raises a single eyebrow. “Agent Barton was meant to eliminate her, the last sleeper target from the remnants of the KGB. Instead, he’s brought her to the heart of America, with a promise that she’ll be top of the class. ”

“He must have a reason.”

“He says he was following his instinct.”

“Well, he’s not been wrong yet.”

“There’s always a first.” The Director pauses. “But not for you. You brought Barton in under similar circumstances, I had the same feeling for him that I have now, but he’s been no more than an incredible asset to S.H.I.E.L.D. I know you trust him, and I trust the both of you. Her history is slightly more complicated, however. I’m only doing my job and ensuring safety and security by asking for this.”

Bucky relents, and sighs. “I have preliminary thoughts on her already,” he admits.

Though not intended to, it makes the other man laugh, and shake his head a little. “Of course you do. I’m hoping I’m wrong, and you’ll have something of a match, might be good for you. Less frustration at us mere mortals,” he’s still chuckling. Bucky layers it to his response to the first compliment, and the pain in his chest increases. There is no place for commendations of his curse, his history. It must be visible, he notes and vows to work on his facial reactions, as the Director adds, “I’ll have to increase your therapeutic visits, just during the training.”

Bucky makes a displeased noise. When he gets no explanation when he is usually provided, about this, he asks lightly, “Why?”

“She’s from Russia. It's just a precaution, I promise. I know you’re settled, Agent, I trust you,” he insists, “But I’m-

“Just doing your job and ensuring safety and security, yeah I get it,” he grumbles, then pulls himself short. Attitude changes are a sure way to increase and hasten therapies. He sighs, unsure if he’s grateful for yet another event to add to his schedule, to occupy his mind or his time for sleep. His punishments are usually self inflicted, the way he prefers, and he doesn’t enjoy when it seems other people have a hand in them. 

No matter, he will find another way.

“I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Director.”

“No, Agent Barnes, thank you.”

Bucky breathes out sharply once the Director is clear of the room, then collects the rest of the files from the front of the table. Though in charge of the program, he’s not actually seen them yet, many not finalised until interviews yesterday. He heads to his office, to add his own notes to them, from what he’s observed, to sort out which lead agents will receive mentorship of who.

There’s no need for him to attend the lunch, he already has the information he needs, the food would only disturb his stomach and take up his time.

Bucky enters his office, instantly aware that someone else is in there too.

She swirls around, like a villain from a movie Tony dragged him to see, but she’s not holding a cat, nor is she bald. Up close, her age is still fairly unidentifiable, but her hair is a trademark feature. It's a vibrant red, and he can see no signs of falsification, so his first thought is that it's natural, a guess amplified by her eyelashes and eyebrows. For all that her code name might be the Black Widow, she's pale, and looks, _soft_. He has an affinity for soft materials, frustratingly, and as he draws nearer her lips, her still round cheeks, her button nose, all scream gentle at him. He ignores them, and her, as she does the opposite.

She’s studies him, and moves with the grace of the cat who flashed through his memory when she stands, curling her legs underneath her as she half sits on the corner of his desk when he moves to the seat she recently vacated.

He doesn’t even ask, there is no reason to, but she says, “I would not be a very good operative if I could not get into an office undetected.”

“You might not be one for much longer if you don’t leave,” he replies, though there's no meaning behind it. If anything, her visit allows to him start on his new task earlier and easier than he'd planned. 

“I’m Natasha,” she says with her hand outstretched, but Bucky catches the slight breath before the word, almost imperceptible. He stares at the hand, with the thought that he will shake it only when it's truthful. She retracts it, with a spark in her eye. “Yes, they said you were good, but I knew you were better than that. I am Natalia. Natasha is my American name, I am from Russia, you see.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do.”

She cocks her head to the side, and watches him. He watches her back, while he decides what he needs to impart with her. “You’re with me. Until we figure out if you can be trusted or not,” he settles on the truth. As he saw through her deceit, he has every reason to believe she would also.

It doesn’t seem to bother her. In fact she shrugs lightly. “It is very wise. But I’m glad for it.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?”

Again, he decides not to lie. “You said you have heard about me, know that I am good. You want an apt instructor, you would like to do well here.”

She smiles, different from the first time, no this akin to amusement not pleasure. “Almost, but not quite. You are good, but I am already good. You will make me excellent, I know this. But no, most importantly, I believe we will have fun together.” 

She hops from the desk, no longer feline, but in a movement that reminds him of how young he sees her, tinkling her fingers as she skips away.

She’s confident, but it has yet to come across as arrogance. Confidence is a delicate balance, as fragile as the weight of a knife. Too much, and the blade will slip and slice right through your own heart. Too little, and the handle will tip, and you will be grasping at thin air only moments before you gasp for air.

But she has a right to be, his face pales a little as he looks through her file. It’s lengthy and varied, transverse across parts of the world he only knew facts about, and dare he say it in the most disgusting tone he can manage, impressive, with her young age. He’d done quite well lately, but this knowledge is compounding on his weakened physical state, and he vomits only bile into the small bin provided, suppressing chills when he understands that it reminds him of his own file. Just sixty years later.

That explains a lot. 

About her, the Director’s concerns, perhaps even his own reaction to her, before she’d even said a word to him. 

He briefly wonders if it will be the best partnership, but pushes the thought to the same place as the Director’s intended compliment in his now crammed and aching heart. He is not allowed to want, he is only required to fulfill his task.

Which is providing an exemplary training program for the newest faces in S.H.I.E.L.D, and determining if his mentee is truthfully a converted KGB operative, willing to lay herself at America’s feet.

He sighs, washes the trace of vomit from his mouth, and continues to the other files before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about S.H.I.E.L.D, I'm making this up as I go.


End file.
